


An Inconvenient Abundance of Dragons

by Jicklet



Series: Mages of Thedas [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jicklet/pseuds/Jicklet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Astrid Hawke didn't ask to get dragged into Kirkwall's problems (and in fact, keeps loudly insisting they find someone else to bother), but it looks like they're hers to deal with anyway. Drabble series!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Fenris

The elf, Fenris, is describing just what his former master would like to do with him. It's all rather grim and gruesome, and if she really starts to think about slavers, she's going to develop a serious need to light someone on fire—and while Kirkwall would provide, this strange sense of longing she's experiencing for the lumpy cot back in Uncle Gamlen’s hovel would suggest it was about time to call it a night. So, she does what she does best and cracks a joke instead. 

It's a gamble; the elf has a rather downer attitude (not undeserved), and has been eying her like a bomb about to go off ever since he first witnessed her take out a shade with a fireball to the face. But if he can't take her sense of humor, she doesn't want him around anyway, so what should his opinion matter? Except—

“Sounds like a waste of a perfectly handsome elf.”

–She's flirting, out of habit. And Fenris... Fenris lets out this _incredibly_ awkward laugh, which just may be the most adorable thing she's witnessed from an adult male. It's like he's not used to doing it (which, she realizes, he probably isn't).

And though she is very aware of Anders's stare intent on the back of her head, it suddenly becomes her mission to make that laugh happen again. 


	2. Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quest: A Bitter Pill (Act 2)
> 
> Going the friendship path with Fenris doesn't always mean agreeing with him, especially for a mage. I imagine there'd be some bumps along the way.

Hadriana is dead and he’s ranting about magic again. But it’s worse than normal, this time he’s going too far.

“May she ROT, and all the other mages with her!”

My mouth drops open. After all these years together, I’d thought maybe he was starting to come around. But this level of pure hate was... I swallow. Mage I may be, but I'm also standing here bleeding, singed and covered in undead gore, because that was what you did to protect someone you cared for--as a friend. I take a deep breath.  _He’s not exactly in a good place right now. Try not to take it personally, Hawke._

“Let’s not forget who you’re talking to.” Surely this choking feeling is becaue of all the shade ash I swallowed.

But-- "I haven’t forgotten,” he spits out, turning to look me in the eyes. The wild hate there hits me as hard as if he’d struck me with his broadsword. This is... there is no response to that. A coldness fills my entire body, except for a sort of hot prickling behind my eyes.

Maker, if I start crying, just open up the ground and swallow me whole.

His eyes flick between mine, and something in his expression abruptly shifts, the fight draining out of him. “I... need to go.” And just like that, he's gone, leaving me alone.

No, not alone. I am suddenly intensely aware of Isabela and Aveline standing behind me, watching in silence. I clear my throat and force some of my usual cheeriness back into my voice. “Well, time to leave, before these get smelly.” I crouch next to Hadriana to check for valuables. Fenris’s signature move may be flashy, but the way peoples’ chests look after he’s crushed their hearts unsettles me. They look wrong and empty.

I wonder if that’s what mine looks like right now. That level of melodrama finally gets a real smile back on my face. I make a mental note to tell that one to Varric later. He'd appreciate it. 

* * *

Aveline splits off when we reach the city. I follow Isabela to the Hanged Man and realize I’m looking for someone only when Izzy asks Varric if Fenris has come by.

He hasn’t.

Varric glances my way. “Everything okay?”

I think about my stupid line about hearts being crushed and grimice. Upon further reflection, no way am I telling that to Varric. Or anybody. Ever.

I start to edge towards the door, as if they’ll read such stupid thoughts straight out of my head if I stay any longer. “Just a little adventure on the coast today... Izzy can fill you in.” I bid them goodnight and feel both rogues suspiciously watching me leave.

* * *

 By the time I get to Hightown, the numbness has burned away to indignant fury. I'm no stranger to being treated as dangerous scum--for being an apostate, for being Fereldan--but how could  _he_ treat me that way, after everything we’ve been through? I scowl as I pound on his front door. Will I forever be fighting to prove myself worthy of base respect? 

No reply. It's a poor sign for diplomacy, but not unexpected. He's probably brooding inside, ruining more left-behind magister finery. 

He never got the lock properly replaced after our original busting through, and with a jiggle of the handle I’m able to slip inside. Almost immediately I can tell no one’s home; the place feels too still. I search the rooms anyway.

Empty.

It’s at this point that a trickle of worry worms its way into my thoughts. What if... what if he’s gone?

I stop, blood cold, in the middle of the master bedroom. What’s holding him here, anyway? After so many dead bounty hunters, Danarius has to know he’s here for sure now. What if he got sick of waiting and ... left Kirkwall?

The front door slams shut behind me as I sprint back outside. The lock sounds broken for good this time, but I ignore it.

I run to the Chantry. He and Seb have been getting along well lately--But it’s dark and locked.

The docks? Going there alone at this hour is a deathwish. Darktown? The... alienage? This is getting silly. I’m out of ideas.

I chew at my thumb the whole way home, an old habit. So what if he’s gone? Probably for the best. He’s rude and he’s dangerous and he’s--

“Fenris?”

He’s in my foyer.


	3. How to handle rejection like a champ

The night Fenris leaves, she sits in bed feeling stupid, replaying their encounter over and over in her head until she's frustrated, horny, and close enough to tears that she just can't _sit_ anymore. It's near enough to dawn that she gets her adventuring gear together. She walks all the way to Lowtown, which gives the sun time to rise, and thankfully finds Isabela curled up in a corner of Varric's suite.

“Bela, wake up, we gotta go kill things.”

The former captain makes a whimpery noise at being woken up so early, and starts to protest, until she sees the look on Hawke's face. “What's with you?”

“Things need to be killed.” Hawke replies, with a manic energy behind her eyes that makes Isabela question the sanity of following this woman.

Not that that’s ever stopped her. 

Varric wakes up just as Isabela is going out the door and asks if they need him to go along, but Hawke tells him to go back to sleep without looking at him. They roust Merrill from the Alienage, then head back up to Hightown to snag Aveline. The four of them spend the rest of the day parting ruffians from their hold on life up and down the Wounded Coast.

The next day, Aveline can't take any more time off. 

“Hawke, really? Can't you just take Fenris? It's not like he has a solid job that'll miss him.”

“I...” Hawke's normally quick-witted mouth takes a second too long coming up with an answer, and she sees something start to click behind Aveline's eyes. She switches to a teasing apology and quickly excuses herself.

So Hawke spends the day drinking with Isabela instead, claiming she just wants a day off. It doesn't take too much mugs of The Hanged Man's "finest" for her to admit she really just doesn't want to go out without a swordsman, but at first won't admit why the other is not an option. Two more mugs in and she's sobbing into Isabela's comforting bosom, “He's _ruined_ me, Bela.”

Bela pats her head soothingly. “There there, sweet thing.”

_“RUINED.”_

Bela sighs and gestures to Nora over Hawke's ruffled head. _“MORE ALE.”_

* * *

**Still not getting around to it**

When Hawke finally drags herself out of bed the next afternoon, Aveline still can't come out to play. And some of the shady things she has promised to do are rather time-sensitive.

...And yet.

She spends the afternoon trying to help Orana clean the mansion.  She even spends a time with her mother when she gets home, listening to tales of old noble friends rediscovered. But then Leandra turns the conversation around and starts asking _questions,_ and Astrid decides it's past time to go kill things again.

But how did she never notice how muddy her boots are? And her pants are just so wrinkled...

* * *

  **Varric intervenes**

The next day, Varric shows up. Supposedly he's there to check up on a job he'd passed on to her, but he's entirely too proddy about how she's doing.

“I was just coming to get you, actually,” she lies with a smile.

Varric says he saw Aveline in Lowtown investigating a possible slaver ring, so they'd better go grab the elf. Hawke can't think of a good excuse why not, so off they go.

* * *

  **Hello again**

The door is open. That’s not unusual, so they venture to the main bedroom. What is unusual is the overabundance of things smashed to bits that litter the house.

“What happened here?” Varric asks her.

Astrid forgets what she’s supposed to be dreading as fear spikes through her belly. "Fenris? FENRIS!" _Could Danarius have gotten tired of waiting? Or some Hightown thugs finally noticed how useless the lock on his front door is and decided--_

But after a moment, he appears at the doorway.

 _“Hawke._ And... Varric. To what do I owe the visit?”

Her heart jumps and lodges itself painfully in her throat. He’s here. Still here. She swallows painfully. Suddenly she feels silly for being so worried. Here she is, crawling back asking for his help? And what does he mean, saying her name like that? She should--

Red.

A flash of red, standing out obviously against the dark gloom.

_That’s my token._

It was a simple thing. A scarf she'd tied around his wrist as a joke, laughing about the customs of noblewomen as they'd entered her room. But here it is, still bound around his gauntlet.

He left her and he's wearing her token. She is unable to reconcile the two truths in her mind.

_Is he mocking me?_

“What happened here, elf?”

Right. Varric’s still here. She glances at him. Back to Fenris. He meets her eyes for a moment, then looks away. Ashamed? _What is going on here?_

“I was... redecorating.”

Varric raises an eyebrow. The tense atmosphere is obvious, and he’s giving Astrid a sideways look, perhaps wondering why she hasn’t jumped in with one of her normal quips. She searches for one and finds _redecorating... armor... with red... what?_

"...Did you need something?" 

Fenris is trying to cover the moment. Good for him. She does her best to kickstart her brain. “I... Varric has a job! If you're interested. You got my back?”

It slips out automatically, and she wishes she could swallow her tongue. Suddenly she's back three years ago, two days after they'd cleared out this very mansion, standing in this very room. Neither of them sure how far to trust the other. Her asking that same question.

“Of course, my friend.”

 _Friend._  Her heart thuds painfully. Weeks ago, she would have given anything for him to admit they were friends. Now... _So_ that's _how it's going to be._

Luckily, Varric cuts in, which is good because she's pretty sure she just bit through her tongue. “Great! Grab your sword, and whatever else you need to brave Darktown.” And with that, he walks out the door, leaving them alone. 

This is her chance. 

But in a moment of cowardice she will regret for three whole years—“Let's go!” —she turns and flees out the door.

She doubts she imagines the look of pity on Varric's face.  


	4. Tattoos

It's a few months after she ran the Qunari out of town, Isabela has decided the solution to growing a conscience is running away, and the Champion of Kirkwall has spent far too many nights alone in an absurdly large house. It's a good time to do something stupid.

Figuring it’s a not a bad idea to have someone with experience along, Astrid grabs Merrill and heads to a moderately reputable tattoo artist. She'd always wanted a tattoo, but the life of an apostate had taught her to avoid things like identifying marks that could be put on wanted posters. But Bethany’s gone. Mother’s gone. Carver’s... off saving the world Maker knows where. It’s only her in danger anymore, and though it's been almost half a year since the Knight-Commander caught her openly shooting fireballs at Qunari (that has to be what a heart attack feels like), the Templars have yet to show up to drag her away.

She childishly pleased to find (once it heals enough that she's allowed out in society) that it makes her less recognizable for a few weeks, until word spreads. The nobles have mostly stopped inviting her to things, which is just fine by her, because there's only one neighbor she really cares to talk to, and things between them are as awkward yet sexually charged as usual.

She stops by the Hanged Man to show off her latest poor decision to Varric, and finds him having a guys night with Fenris and Donnic. That's a pleasant development, she decides.

Donnic blinks, amused. “Intriguing new look for you, Serah Hawke.”

Varric roars with delighted laughter and immediately begins spinning dramatic new tales behind the designs. Each swirl is a particularly impressive kill... or perhaps, a romantic conquest?

She follows the dwarf’s not-so-subtle glance to his neighbor. Fenris is quiet, and she hates how she feels unsure about this for the first time under his considering gaze. Her back straightens defiantly as she raises a prompting eyebrow.

“It suits you,” he offers simply, with a slight smile.

She grins back. “Of course it does. Deal me in.” 


	5. "So you're into elves, huh?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Act 3, pre-"Alone." Gamlen is so charming.

Fenris, Isabela and Merrill are standing awkwardly in the corner of the too-small hovel Hawke's uncle calls a home, waiting for Hawke to be done asking the man what on earth a wallop mallet is.

"Black? No, too obvious. Mauve?" Isabela is saying.

"Oooh, how about Green? To match your eyes!" The blood mage chimes in.

Fenris sighs. "There are only so many colors, how can this game not have gotten old?" 

Before either can reply, Hawke's irritated voice cuts loudly across the cabin. 

"I'm not _'into elves,'_  like it's some kind of fetish, uncle. I'm into Ffff............" she trails off awkwardly as she realizes has inadvertently attracted the attention of everyone present. Her eyes meet Fenris's for a split-second, widen, and then she does her best to recover. "....ffffforget it, let's go, everyone." She starts shooing them towards the door with her staff, tipping her hat ironically towards her uncle. "As always, an absolute  _pleasure_  to see you, dear uncle Gamlen."

As they walk down the street, Hawke is discussing mallets and trees with Merrill, leaving Fenris with a smug Isabela. He looks away and refuses to indulge her until her elbow becomes too persistent.

_"...Yes?"_

Smirking, the pirate leans in close to his ear. "She was definitely going to say your name, if you were wondering."

His jaw clenches as he determinedly looks anywhere but the back of Hawke's head. "I wasn't."

She grins as if he had said exactly the right thing. "Suit yourself."


	6. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Act 3: Alone.

She didn't realize how dearly she was hoping this wasn't a trap, until the moment when she realizes it is... and Fenris doesn't.

“What's wrong? Why are you acting like...”

Hawke's heart sinks. _Shit_. “I'll give you three guesses,” she spits out. And that is surprisingly the last urge she gets to be flippant in this event.

Because finally here is the man who made Fenris's life hell, whose very existence still torments him. And he is so very... _smirky._ She feels a slow-burning rage grow in her at the sheer audacity of this man who is so very sure that _he_ is the hero of the story. And then, what he insinuates about the duties he made Fenris perform... _well._ It is ironic that the closest she comes to losing control of her magic in a full decade is in defense of the man who most respects her ability to keep that control. She takes a deep breath and holds back the heat building in her hands long enough for Fenris to take the first blow.

But that dammed magister isn't fighting fair, and the Hanged Man is torn up by legions of minions and the sudden appearance of shades before his barrier wears down enough for them to attack the man himself.

But finally it's all over, and it is with a twisted sense of pride that she notes the hand lifting Danarius into the air and crushing the life from him is the one wearing her token.

She adds it to the growing list of things she should probably find more disturbing. 

She does manage to pull it together enough to stop Fenris from murdering his sister. He's angry with her, but she'll take his ire right now. At least it's something.

* * *

 

**_"I am alone."_ **

Hawke shakes her head. “Fenris, I’m sorry, but that’s rubbish." His head jerks up to give her an incredulous stare and she winces.  _Great, Hawke, real comforting._  "Look around you, at all the people who came when they heard you might need help. Varric, Isabela... even Merrill.”

He does look surprised to see the blood mage, smiling nervously between the rogues. But she had agreed readily enough when Astrid had stopped by to ask if she might be available, hopefully just to sit around casually playing cards with Isabela, but also to just be there, ready in case back up was needed.

“And Aveline was supposed to come, only there was a last-minute raid on a slaver den that couldn’t wait. She figured you'd understand.” She smiles hesitantly, to no response. “And--Oh, no. I completely forgot to ask Sebastian." She frowns at the oversight. Not that there would have been much room for an archer in the tavern, but she was sure the former Prince would have come to Fenris's aid had she asked.

Fenris is still giving her that thousand yard stare, so she finally gets on with what she's been dancing around. "And, ah...” she realizes she's fidgeting with a hem of her robe and smooths it out. _“...I’m_ here, Fenris.” _Whenever you need,_ she added silently, but unlike any time in the last three years, he seems to have finally understood, turning to her with a warmth in his eyes, and a soft hand on her face. Her breathing stops--

His eyes grow sad again and he turns away. “I ... need to leave this place.” And with a quickness and grace that somehow still makes her catch her breath, he’s gone.

* * *

**In a stolen mansion in Hightown**

“Fenris?”

“Hawke. This isn’t...”

“We don’t have to talk about it. Or anything. I just thought... you might like some company.”

He doesn’t say anything, just turns back to the fire. But he moves over to make room on the bench.

_I don’t know what to say, but I am here._


	7. Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Act 3, Right after Questioning Beliefs.

Hawke couldn’t help it. She was back in his arms and was trying her best to be as thoughtful and gentle as possible this time around, but suddenly she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

She burst into giggles.

Fenris drew back, one dark eyebrow arched. “Am I... doing something wrong?” 

She shook her head rapidly and burried her face into his shoulder to stiffle the outburst. _Not the moment, Hawke!_ It seemed her talent for finding humor in just about anything was backfiring. “It’s just... three years of us both lying awake, wanting each other but too ashamed to admit it. We are both... so... stupid!” The bemused look on his face was so endearing she couldn’t help kiss it. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining this.”

But the next second he was smiling fondly down at her. “You’re... you, Hawke,” he replied simply, shaking his head and leaning down to kiss her again. 

* * *

 

Later, as they lay spent next to each other, Hawke whispered, “I think we needed those years.”

“Hmm? How so?”

“If only for the tension that fueled that display,” she grinned, waggling her eyebrows exaggeratedly. He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

“No, but truely, think about how you were, and how I was. We were messes.” 

"And now," he replied dryly, "with the wisdom of three years past, we are complete human beings." 

Between the two of them, there was enough sarcasm to light Hightown on fire. How she'd missed it. "Exactly." 


	8. Merrillquest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During/After "A New Path."

In retrospect, it was a terrible idea to bring Fenris along to Sundermount.

Okay, retrospect nothing, it was a terrible idea at the time, and she'd known it. But they had just reconciled after being "only friends" for far, far too long, and Hawke was caught up in the butterflies, unwilling to let him out of her sight. So thrilled with the reacknowledgment of their feelings for each other, she brushed aside the disaster inherent in Fenris's presence and anything involving a personal favor for Merrill.

In her defense, it seemed like things had been getting better. Despite their mutual resentment, the two elves complemented each other well in battle, and even got along... decently, if not cordially. And, only a few weeks back, Merrill had agreed without a second's thought to provide backup with Isabela in the Hanged Man in the case of Fenris’s meeting with his sister going south (as, of course, it had). So, maybe Hawke could be forgiven for not thinking too hard about her party composition.

Hawke had spent too many years listening to her father lecture about the dangers of blood magic to fully approve of Merrill’s use of it, but eventually she’d accepted that the elf was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. And... honestly, she’d been curious to see if there was reason to Merrill’s assertions that the _intent_ of the magic was what mattered, not the supposed “evilness” of the branch of magic itself. With the growing abundance of blood mages bursting into abominations all over Kirkwall, Hawke was kind of hoping for an exception.

But now the Keeper is dead in Merrill’s place, and the elven mage is sobbing, heartbroken, on the cold stone of the cave. Astrid bites back the  _I told you so_  that flits briefly across her mind, she’s pretty sure Merrill’s reached that on her own already. Anyway, Merrill might've been able to contain the situation if Marathari hadn't interfered (well-meaning as the Keeper's intentions had been). They'll never know now. 

But she’s forgotten about her completely tactless lover. Astrid winces at his words, but hesitates before retaliating, because wasn’t she thinking just the same thing a moment ago? Luckily, Isabela cuts him off with surprising venom. She was a good choice to bring along, at least. 

Hawke sighs, picking Merrill up from the ground and gathering the weeping elf into her arms. Fenris makes eye contact with her over Merrill’s head, but Hawke only raises an eyebrow, as if to say,  _Is this_ really _the best time?_   He scowls and turns away.

If things were bad, they turn devastating when Astrid fumbles diplomacy with Merrill's clan, and they have to slaughter their way through the lot of them in order to leave. 

The walk back to the city is silent. Even Merrill has gone past the point of tears. Fenris lets them see the back of him as soon as they reach civilization, and Isabela leaves them at the door of the Hanged Man (kissing Merrill on the head and promising to stop by later). Hawke is left to escort a thoroughly shell-shocked Merrill back to the alienage.  _What do I do now?_  Merrill whispers. Hawke is thrown. What do you say to someone whose life has been completely upended? If only she were Aveline or Varric, maybe she would know what to say. 

Eventually it starts to get dark, and Hawke squeezes Merrill's hand with promises to come back the next day.  Merrill squeezes back and nods. Manages a shaky smile. Hawke gets up, but hesitates at the doorframe. “I’m sorry I brought Fenris along. I wasn’t thinking.”

But Merrill, being Merrill, understands. In fact, she’s happy for Hawke and Fenris, so glad they found their way back to each other, and gets up from the bed to give Hawke a proper hug and congratulations before she leaves. 

Hawke walks straight home. The estate is oppressively empty, and she lies awake, alone, until dawn.

At some point she must have fallen asleep, because she's awoken by a familiar harsh knock on the door.

Fenris stands on her doorstop with a look of chagrin and a book he can't quite figure out. She takes his hand and leads him to the study. To most, this wouldn't pass for much of an apology, but between them, it'll do.  


	9. One of Those Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes, her heart isn't so light.

Hawke is late.

They were supposed to go to the Wounded Coast to flush out some smugglers, and it is well past the agreed time. Fenris begins to pace restlessly in the main hall when a knock sounds on his door. He leaps to open it, but instead of Hawke, it's Orana, here to deliver the message that Mistress Hawke is feeling unwell and sends her regrets.

Fenris isn't sure what the proper protocol was. Did lovers (because that was what Hawke had teasingly dubbed them just last week) visit each other when they were sick? He consults Orana, and while the servant admits to being equally unsure, she offers hesitantly that the gesture didn't seem inappropriate. He follows her back to the estate.

Fenris pokes his head cautiously into Hawke's room—is she sleeping? But no, there she is: sitting on the edge of the bed, still in her house robe, staring into the fire.

He stops at the threshold. “Hawke?”

Her head turns slowly towards him, a ghost of her normal smile warming her lips at the sight of him. “Fenris.” She turned back to the fire. “What brings you here?”

Uncertainty. “Orana said you were ill...”

She laughs softly, without heart. “Oh no, I'm fine! Didn't mean to worry you." Still turned away. "It's just...” she waves her hands around vaguely, searching for the words. “...one of those days.” After a moment, she looks up at him. “You know?”

A fist squeezes his heart as he recognizes the look in her eyes. He does know. “I...” he takes a hesitant step into the room. She nods her head towards the spot next to her on the bed. He crosses the room and sits, not quite touching her, waiting for permission.

She immediately leans into him. As the fire crackles, he is painfully reminded of that night, three years ago, after Leandra...

“Does a name lose its meaning if no one uses it?”

It's a strange question, and rather philosophical for her. Before he can decide whether it is a question that needs answering, she continues.

“No one's called me Astrid for a very long time.”

He is momentarily thrown. “Astrid?”

She laughs, closer to her normal self. “It's my name. Hawke is just my family name, but it's all I've been for...” she trails off.

He is unsure what to say. “Do you wish to go by it?”

For a long moment, nothing. Then... “I wouldn't mind if you used it sometimes.”

“All right... Astrid.” He considers the feeling of the name on his tongue. He feels like he should say something, something to express... out there she could be Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, solving every problem she comes across with a smile and a quip—but here in these unguarded moments, he is grateful that he of all people is allowed to see...  _Astrid._

But he doesn't know quite how to put that into words. “It suits you,” he says finally, hesitating before lightly pressing a kiss to her hair.

She makes a noise of approval and he feels her tense muscles relax. “You think so? Carver always said...”


	10. On the Commander of the Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Game.

“So, what’s she like?”

“Eh? The Warden Commander?” Carver rolls his eyes to cover the fact that his tone came out less sarcastic than fond. “I dunno, she’s... Hang on,” his eyebrow quirks up as he discovers his sister apparently still bites the skin by her thumb when she’s fidgety. “Are you _nervous?”_

Astrid’s eyes cross briefly to focus on the hand in front of her face before jerking the offending appendage away from her mouth. She huffs in a mock-offended way as she spreads her arms grandly. _“Champion of Kirkwall_ here, little brother. _Champions_ know it is wise to know as much as possible about who one is engaging before an encounter.”

_Snort._ “You sound like you’re going to be fighting her.” He pretends to reconsider. “Though if she sees your _face_ , it’d be understandable--”

“--For her to fall deeply, deeply in love at first sight?”

“Only if she’s had a head injury.”

She shoots him a look that says _I’ll give you a head injury_ but gets distracted by another thought. “Her and me. Who d’you think’d win?”

“Her." He doesn't even pause. "Definitely her for sure."

“Shut up, brother.” She is just tall enough to ruffle his hair. He ducks out of reach, scowling and smoothing it back into place. She laughs, and after a moment he can’t help but smile back. It’s strangely easy to fall back into old habits, but he can hold his own against her playful teasing now that he no longer immediately jumps to take offense.

“Seriously though, what’s she like?”

“Eh,” he scrunches up his face. “She’s... You remember that Alistair bloke? He was leading us when we ran into you during that Qunari thing.”

“Mm... oh, sure! The Silly Warden.”

“Well, she’s married to him.” Carver rolls his eyes. “Impossible to get them to be serious when it’s the pair of them.”

“Hah! That sounds...” Astrid stops walking as abruptly as if she’d hit a brick wall. “Hang on, the necklace he gave me belonged to the _Hero of Ferelden?!”_

“Well, yeah. She’s almost as good as Isabela when it comes to finding things like that. Not really a magpie, she just likes the finding part, I think...” He trails off, his sister is looking oddly peevish. "...What?"

“W-Well. If I’d known that, maybe I wouldn’t’ve--”

“...You sold it.” He shakes his head. 

“The enchantment wasn’t that good!" She protests. "And the stone was _perfect.”_ He stays silent, but her voice rises defensively anyway. “He said he hoped it could help! And it did! I got enough to restock almost all my potion ingredients in exchange for turning it in.” He sees her eyes flick over to the silent elf a few paces behind them. “And a few books.” 

Carver eyes the Amell crest at Fenris’s waist without comment before turning back to his sister with a snort. “Well, don't be too heartbroken. Knowing the Warden Commander, you’ll probably get another one as soon as you step through the gate." 


End file.
